reflections on a decade {4/30/14}

Today is the tenth anniversary of my brother's suicide.

For the first five years after his death, this season destroyed me. The snow would melt, the leaves would unfurl, and time would tear him away all over again. But eventually the grief softened. Writing the memoir helped immensely. Discovering meditation and Buddhism did, as well. But maybe it would have turned out like this even if I hadn't done a thing. Maybe time itself turns someone's absence into his presence. I don't really know. What I do know is that I miss him a little more keenly every April 30th. I miss knowing the person he would have become. I miss him knowing the person that I am. 

This year the ache is especially poignant. After five years, three surgeries, three rounds of IVF, and hundreds of tears, my husband and I are finally expecting our first child. I find myself wondering if I will see my brother them. I wonder what kinds of questions they will ask about their uncle. I wonder how I will answer them.

Ten years after Matt's death, I want to share a a complicated truth: I hate that my brother is dead, but I love who I became because of it. With one action he cracked my foundations, and over the years my walls came tumbling down. Those years were pure terror. I was broken, bleeding, and exposed. Life--every moment of it--hurt.

But that pain led me to compassion. That pain led me to change. That pain forced me to accept myself for who I am, allowed me to find the beauty, joy, and love at the root of all my grief. 

I won't say it doesn't still hurt, sometimes. I will say that more often than not I am grateful for the pain.

I love you, little brother. Every motherfucking day.

april showers {4/6/14}

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a long wait {3/31/14}

On this, the last day of March and the first day it's reached 60 degrees in Chicago this year, I've been thinking about how hard it is to wait for change.

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Change almost always takes longer than we want it to. Longer than we think we can stand. Gray day after gray day we wait, and the branches stay bare.

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Sometimes it feels like change will never come. Sometimes it takes years. Sometimes it takes decades.

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Sometimes we find beauty in the bareness. Sometimes we find peace in standing still.

But a lot of the time we rail against the darkness. We cry for life to be different. We grieve for wanting unfulfilled.

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Though the branches remain bare, the sky is blue today. The warm breeze promises blooming. No matter where you are in your life, change is coming. Fight it, grieve it, welcome it, embrace it. Whether it melts away the darkest winter or strips the blossoms from the trees.

grammer {3/19/14}

I've written in the past about how much I dislike social media. If it were up to me, Facebook wouldn't exist. And don't get me started on Twitter. Don't even get me started. (hashtag 80s standup). But there is one social media program I actually love, that I check every day and would miss if it were gone: Instagram.

For me, Instagram is like a conversation in pictures. You show me a piece of your world, and I'll show you a piece of mine. I mostly follow friends, but I also follow artists, photographers, and complete strangers who happen to take lovely photos and often pair them with lyric captions. I only check my feed once a day, first thing in the morning, while I am still in bed. It inspires me to start the day with my eyes open, to look for those moments where (as Cartier-Bresson says) the heart, eye, and mind align.

Or to see cute pictures of my friends' pets.

Either way, I like that Instagram urges me to live in the moment. To look for bursts of color and patterns of light and shadow. To tell a story with an image. To clip a piece of my experience and toss it into the wind.

I've added an link to my Instagram account here (check out the social media bar on the left). Let's share pixels! 

all you need {2/14/14}

Maybe it's because this holiday isn't quite so kid/family centric. Maybe it's because there isn't as much societal pressure to participate. Maybe it's because it isn't commercialized on the level of Christmas. Maybe it's because I need a splash of red in the middle of winter. Or maybe I just love love. Whatever the reason, I'm a sucker for Valentine's Day. Hope the love of friends and family warms your heart today!

spring is coming {2/1/14}

As much as I'd like to live in a milder climate (and believe me, this year it's at the top of my to-do list), there is something compelling about the weather extremes of the midwest--particularly the transition from winter to spring. For nearly half the year the world seems dead: bare branches, snow-buried grass, gray skies. And every year it feels like we are trapped. Like THIS IS IT. This is the year that winter will go on forever. But the days get longer, the sun gets warmer, the snow melts, the birds sing, and the trees unfurl their leaves. Spring. A miracle.

When life's pattern is smooth, predictable, it becomes easy to take things for granted. But these seasonal transitions remind me that nothing is permanent. Not depression, anxiety, or grief. Not joy, happiness, or peace. These seasons remind me not to cling to what's pleasant or push away what isn't. They invite me to be with what is.

(They also invite me go through old photos and reminisce about summer. I guarantee if Buddha had lived through three polar vortexes, he would have done the same thing.)

note to self {1/29/13}

Know this: the second half of your life will be bittersweet. This is okay, as palates change with age. You will never stop missing people and animals and places in time that have left you.  Your natural reaction will be to recoil, scramble, blame. This is okay, too. There are guides who can lead you back to your breath. Pema Chodron is one of them. Your best friends, worst enemies, and pets are others. 

Know this: you are going to fail. You are going to fall hard and fast, flat on your ass.  You are going to be embarrassed. You are going to be ashamed. You are going to be angry. This is better than okay. This is necessary. Fail as often as possible. The more you do it, the less it hurts. And sometimes, more often than you’d think, you surprise yourself. You succeed. 

Know this: there is time. It doesn’t feel like there is enough, and maybe it’s not enough for everything. This has to be okay. This is something that will not change, no matter how many movies about gorgeous teenage vampires you see.

Know this: there are crumbs of comfort all around you. Soft sweaters, warm rooms, little squares of sunshine. Pay attention. Collect them. In the leanest of times they can sustain you.    

Know this: you can get used to anything. This is the beautiful, terrible secret of life. You don’t want to, and you shouldn’t have to, but you can. You will. 

postcard from january {1/21/14}

Looks like we will be earning our summer this year...

above zero {1/13/14}

A break from the darkness, the deep chill. Isn't that really all any of us want? A chance for a bit of light and warmth. A chance to catch our breath and feed our souls.

Today I took advantage of the sun and melting snow to snap a few polaroids. Enough soul food to get me through the next polar vortex, I hope. And, whatever weather you are weathering, dear reader, I hope you are feeding yourself too.

winter light {1/6/14}

What with the holidays and all, I haven't been taking many photographs. None, actually. Now that I have been home for almost a week, I decided to pick up my camera again. But what to photograph? It's -15 degrees outside, and there is at least two feet of snow on the ground. 

Luckily I have a system when I'm stymied, photography-wise: Look for the light. I forget sometimes that it's as simple as that. 

Now I'm not always the hugest fan of winter. I don't mind the cold so much as I mind the layer of gray blotting out the sky. But when the curtain of cloud cover drops, the winter sunlight falls over the frozen world like a layer of pale silk. It is, truthfully, my favorite light to shoot. 

Stay warm, friends. And when days of darkness begin to wear you down, remember to look for the light.